


All That Never Glittered

by PartTwo



Series: All That Never Glittered [2]
Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Blue Sky (Portal), Light Angst, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-08-21 06:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16571015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartTwo/pseuds/PartTwo
Summary: It's not so easy to delete your humanity, but it's not easy to understand it, either.





	1. Infinitely Less

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a little after my previous little thing [Helper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545917), and is in the same universe as the lovely [Waffles’](https://wafflebloggies.tumblr.com/) [Blue Sky](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7434133/1/Blue-Sky) (which you really oughta read, it's legitimately a gift.)

_Stephen stared out into the snow, the field of wheat harvested for the year. He wondered how, wondered_ why _he ever considered living in the dormitories, even for a short while. Aperture was cold and unnatural, dark. There was always something sinister in the air, he knew that much, but work was work and what he did was fulfilling - was being the operative word._

 

 _It didn’t matter, anyways. He wouldn't be there for much longer than a few weeks. He’d up and leave, find a job somewhere,_ anywhere _else. Black Mesa was always hiring, and though it seemed like both places were quite the same, Stephen knew better._

 

* * *

 

_Stephen._

 

Ever since his brief little chat with Caroline, this _Stephen_ guy just would not leave his head. Wheatley figured out the broad sweeps of the story: He was a guy who worked a desk job for awhile, who apparently was pretty prone to bad ideas, who got crammed into a little sphere with a blue eye and was told to _be himself._

 

Man _alive,_ he couldn’t have been given worse advice. ‘Be yourself’ is advice you give someone worth their salt, ‘be yourself’ is advice you give to people like Chell, ‘cause when those people are themselves, the things they make and do aren’t total, absolute and utter disasters. The advice they _should’ve_ given him was ‘be absolutely anyone and everyone other than yourself’ and if he was just slightly less of a total screw-up and followed that advice, he might just do something halfway decent… If he was lucky, at least.

 

But with this _Stephen_ guy thrown into the mix? That was a whole new industrial sized barrel of worms. Wheatley was hardly sure which narrative tortured him more - the idea that he was always an A-1 dumbass, or that once-upon-a-time he was someone worth the advice ‘be yourself’.

 

The former was not only a fatal blow to his nonexistent self-esteem, but uncomfortable in the deepest sense - you can’t make dirt into gold, just as you can’t make worth out of worthlessness. The latter, however, was just a straightforward tragedy. Aperture, in their desperation, slammed whoever the hell seemed slightly scatterbrained enough to be an _I.D Core_ into a ball, tweaked it until all it did was chatter, then slapped it on a supercomputer ten to the thirty thousandth times its size and told it to _be himself._

 

The former made his idiocy a fact of the universe, the latter made his idiocy unfair, and neither was satisfying, so Wheatley, as dull in EQ as he was in anything else, chose to ignore it. It was the same logic that a dog hiding behind a curtain from a vacuum uses - if I can’t see it, it can’t see me, and that’s all that matters.

 

But that didn’t stop him from losing sleep over it.

 

No, he stared at the ceiling when he should’ve been asleep and just… Thought about it. From what he’d seen of himself, he was starting to get the sense that he was always just a moron - but that didn’t stop him from daydreaming otherwise.

 

Not in the slightest, in his mind Stephen was sharp as a tack, deserving of the Bagel Girl he figured was probably Chell, once, and when he did finally ask her out, he might stumble over his words, but he’d have gotten them out, proud and oh-so-brave.

 

Stephen was everything Wheatley wasn’t.

 

Smart, charismatic, funny, moral, compassionate, empathetic, and a _wiz_ at the whole dealing-with-other-people thing. Oh, in his odd fantasies, Stephen was the _king_ of it. Sure, he was hardly taciturn, and he may talk too fast for most people to really know what the hell he was saying, but boy-oh-boy did people like him.

 

Wheatley liked to think that when Stephen finally went missing that fateful day, everyone that knew him - even the guys that saw him in passing - mourned, in some way. The full-on black veils and crying would probably just be for the people that _really_ gave a damn about him, but the folks that were only vaguely familiar with him probably would’ve gotten a little sad when they saw his empty cubicle.

 

“That’s a damn shame,” They’d say, softly, “He was a nice guy.”

 

He liked to think that Stephen was really good at something. Wheatley didn’t know what that would be, he didn’t seem to have any practical knowledge on _anything_ aside from betrayal and regularly shoving your entire foot directly into your mouth, but he was certain that it came to him as naturally as swimming to a trout and flying to a sparrow. He wasn’t sure he’d be any good at that thing _now,_ however, they’d gone through and fiddled with his brain so much he was probably unrecognizable to his old self - save for the voice and the body.

 

He remembered he was some IT guy, whatever that meant, but that didn’t feel quite right. He had a computer, once, apparently, but he was no good with that stuff, now. Did IT have anything to do with computers?

 

_Intelligent Teachers… Irritable Tigers… Incompatible Triceratops’… Irreversible Transgressions- Oh-ho-kay, that’s enough of that. No need to keep going that-a-way, Mr. Wheatley, absolutely not. Not the time or place, really, we oughta… Oughta just put a pin in that one, come back to it when the mood seems right - which, mind you, it does not, right now. Probably won’t until a touch later - or, more like a long time from now, but pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to, amirite?_

 

He’d gotten better at that, nipping that nasty train of thought in the bud. He sometimes fell down that hole, the Maybe-I-Should-Just-Leave-All-I-Am-Is-A-Burden-And-An-Inherently-Bad-Person hole. Not the most eloquent title, but Wheatley wasn’t the most eloquent man. Nevertheless, that hole in particular was a bad one to fall down, ‘cause the second he started falling, Chell would _always_ notice. It threw her off her rhythm, a little, since the time she normally spent _being_ in that rhythm was time spent dealing with his absolute horse-shit.

 

The problem was, she could hardly ever argue with him, at least not in any way that convinced him.

 

For all intents and purposes, he _was_ a burden, objectively.

 

He was a little bit of a burden on the townsfolk, who suddenly had to teach a full-grown man about everything from geese to genocide and he was _not_ fast on the uptake. He was a burden on the circle of people he could call his friends just by being there and being so painfully awkward - he was pretty sure they didn't like him all that much anyways. He was a burden on Chell in every way imaginable. Worst of all, in his mind, he didn’t give anything back.

 

But for whatever the reason, be it pity or a strange misguided fondness, the people around him didn’t cast him out. He didn’t have anything to give, but they still wanted him around, nonetheless, they were all unfathomably strange in that respect.

 

He was pretty sure that, unlike Stephen, if he were to be nabbed mysteriously and never seen again, nobody would miss him, not _properly._ He didn’t think anyone would throw a good-riddance party or anything like that, but he hardly thought that anyone would really care that good ol’ Wheatley was gone, past the first few weeks. He wasn’t the kinda guy that someone thought of in a happy moment and went: “Damn, I wish _he_ was here.”

 

Unlike the rest of the town, if he were to go missing, there would be no niche left unfilled. No bread would be left unbaked, no store left unstocked, no Foxglove left untampered with.

 

 _No stupid idea left unhad._ He thought, a little bitterly.

 

Wheatley glanced to the door, then to Chell’s sleeping form next to him - moving to sleep next to her was probably one of his greater blessings, there was only so long he could spend hunched up on that couch - but despite everything, some distant, _stupid_ part of him wanted to get up and start walking and never look back.

 

He supposed most parts of him were the stupid part, but this was about as low as it ever got.

 

There were few things about the world around him he really, truly, _properly_ understood, but one of those things was was Chell. She was more than just his rock, unsurprisingly, she was the whole framing structure that kept him held up, but that was so painfully unfair to her. You can’t carry the weight of everything she’d seen and somehow still hold up someone else's world.

 

He knew, rationally, that should he walk out and not return, he’d die quick enough. Starvation, dehydration, illness, _bears_ or whatever the hell was out there and hungry. He wasn’t particularly strong for his size, wasn’t really very nimble or graceful, he lacked the basic survival instinct that Chell seemed predisposed to, and it didn’t matter what the hell he did, he wasn’t very good at it, so it wasn’t like he’d find a place in some distant town somewhere - and that assumed he’d even get there.

 

He tried his damndest to shake the thoughts from his head, standing up slowly and quietly, meandering his way over to the bathroom, where he splashed his face with cold water, running his wet hands through his hair.

 

He was rather unimpressed with his own face, sometimes. His eyes were a just-barely-human looking blue, his hair a sort of dull sandy-hay colored mop that never seemed to have a handle on which way it wanted to part, and he was just _too damn tall._ He vaguely remembered seeing a picture of these _gargantuan_ deep sea squids, with their long, eerie tentacles trailing mysteriously into the depths. They looked kinda like ghosts or demons, just floating there, staring, _watching._ He figured if there was a such thing as reincarnation, in a past life, he was one of those things - all noodly legs, to the point where it was kind of creepy.

 

Hell, the little girl was still half-convinced he was a monster.

 

He did act pretty monstrous, on more than one occasion. He wasn’t sure if how quickly he turned on Chell was something objective about him or if it was just a product of fear or power. Megalomaniac little bastard, he was.

 

He rested his elbows on the sink, and pressed his face into his hands. He always got like this, it felt like he didn’t control his own thoughts, they controlled him. He couldn’t help his frustration, though, he was _useless,_ bloody _useless_ and there was nothing he could do about but carry on and act like it didn’t feel strange to not be able to help the one person in the world worth helping.

 

He heaved a deep sigh, straightening out his back, feeling two vertebrae pop as he did, and slowly crept back into the bedroom, back next to Chell.

 

But the light was on when he returned, Chell was sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Sorry love,” He said, softly, joining her in sitting criss-cross on the mattress, “Didn’t mean to wake you. You need your beauty sleep, and all that - not that you aren’t naturally beautiful, it’s nothing like that, but you know, a lady needs her sleep, isn’t that right? Let’s get back to it, then-”

 

“You haven’t been sleeping,” She said. She shifted a little closer to him, putting a hand to his face and resting her thumb right beneath his right eye. She squinted at him, scrutinizing his face, but didn’t say anything else.

 

“Don’t you worry about me, ahaha…” He wanted to pull away but he was certain that’d look more suspicious than if he just stood stock still. “Just one of those nights.”

 

She narrowed her eyes further, lips pressed into a flat line. “What’s bothering you?”

 

“Nothing, love! Honestly, I’m right as rain, good ol’ Wheatley, healthy as an ox. What’s got you so worried?”

 

She let her hand drop from his face, letting it fall to the spot right next to him on the bed. “You can tell me when something’s bothering you,” She said, softly. There was an underlying emotion to it, some weird, unfamiliar mix of tired and worried, maybe an undercurrent of annoyance, but it came out the way all of Chell’s feelings seemed to - muted emotion soup.

 

She didn’t seem to feel the same unadulterated emotions he did.

 

“I know.”

 

She reached across his body and shut off the light, slowly and deliberately lying back down, burrowing herself into the warmth of the covers. “Are you gonna try to sleep?”

 

Wheatley nodded, slowly. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

 

“Good.”

 

He joined her, lying down and curling around her as he sometimes did. She grabbed his arm, slung it across her body, and relaxed against him, as though he was nothing but comfort and safety to her.

 

He wished he could actually protect her.

 

He actually managed to cut the thought off before it could develop, closing his eyes and keeping his mind on her, how small she was next to him, the strong, calloused hand holding his, and the slow, deep, even breaths of her next to him.

 

With that, he nodded off, and with some luck, would wake up feeling a little calmer.


	2. Once A Statistician

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!!! I had so much difficulty trying to get this right and even still, I’m not too big on how it turned out. The next couple chapters are coming out WAY faster and will hopefully be a little better.

_ The elevator ride down was nauseating. The change in scent from outside to the lower floors was subtle, but every single time Chell stepped into the parking lot once again, the difference hit her like a ton of bricks. She wasn’t looking forward to breathing that stale, recycled air. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, savoring the upper-floor freshness she’d have to say goodbye to in a few minutes.  _

 

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

 

_ “Floor three.” The announcement cut through her miniature meditation.  _

 

_ Another woman stepped into the elevator and pressed a button, the doors sliding shut behind her. She was the picture of everything Aperture said it was. Her ascott matched her shoes and her white dress was wrinkle-less and immaculate. She caught Chell looking and smiled a ten-thousand-watt grin. Chell returned it with a lip quirk of her own - on the bigger side of things, as far as smiles down here went.  _

 

_ “I like your hair,” The woman said, after a long few moments of silence. Her voice was familiar and not, similar in timbre and pitch to a voice Chell could’ve sworn she heard before, but couldn’t place at the moment. It was warm, almost too warm for a place like this, like she was the distilled ball of sunshine that someone sent to try to light up the corners of the dark hell below the wheat fields - it was a shame the facility was just too infinite to light.  _

 

_ “Thanks.”  _

 

_ “I always wanted those sun-bleached streaks, but that’s a little hard to do without the sun.” She chuckled at her own joke, rocked back and forth on her heels, holding a manilla file to her chest and fiddling absently with the pen clipping it closed.  _

 

_ The elevator slowed to a stop with a pleasant ding. “Floor 15,” The smooth automated voice announced. .  _

 

_ “That’s mine!” She said with another infectious smile, “You have a good day, now!” _

 

_ The thought came and left as quickly as that woman did:  _ She’s going to die, today. 

 

* * *

Chell woke with an odd feeling from a dream she already couldn’t really remember. The blinds were open, the spot Wheatley occupied next to her empty, the glass of water finished. She sat up, rubbed at her eyes groggily, before planting both feet on the ground to mindlessly go through the first parts of the morning. 

 

_ He’s been getting up even earlier, nowadays.  _

 

It’d been that way since he started his studying. It gave him something to wake up for, she supposed, something to be excited about. 

 

Chell, admittedly, didn’t  _ really  _ pay much attention to Wheatley’s sudden interest and uptake for the academics. Shoot her for it, it kept him busy and seemed to make him happy, if he wanted to learn how to spell  _ zucchini  _ (a word he insisted wasn’t real until he looked it up in a dictionary) then who was she to stop him? Though it felt unlikely, the idea came up more than once that he might find something to make himself a little more useful. 

 

It was an awakening kick to the solar-plexus to find him, maybe a year and a half into his studies, already wolfing down the basics of calculus like he was starved for math all his life. He blew through book after book, before eventually just sitting down in the “library” part of Town Hall and working by himself.

 

It was like watching a foal struggle to stand before taking off in a full sprint. He wasn't good at the basics - he was god awful at division, somehow worse at multiplication, and all the way through his romp through algebra, he added and subtracted on his fingers. Conceptually, however, he seemed to pick things up with the same ease and comfort at which he babbled. 

 

Chell never had a particular interest or skill in math - she worked with fractions decently well, but that was less talent and more necessity. It never really mattered to her, she could figure out what needed to get done and then she’d do it. Easy as that. 

 

That wasn’t good enough for Wheatley. 

 

She heard movement in the kitchen. She walked down the hall, tying her hair up tightly, and prepared herself for the worst. 

 

He had scratch paper strewn about the kitchen counter, the tiny kitchen scale Chell  _ grossly  _ underused, an incorrectly-measured cup of flour, Chell’s entire recipe box, and a calculator. It looked like things always looked when he was up to something. 

 

_ Not as bad as I thought it’d be.  _

 

“Morning love!” He didn’t even look up from what he was doing, “Wasn’t expecting you to be up so early.” 

 

“What’re you doing?” She leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

 

The morning light filtered through the window, surrounding his face in a golden-yellow halo. He looked like he belonged in a renaissance painting, if Michelangelo preferred to paint skinny, awkward men in their thirties. 

 

“Measuring! I'm working on a little project - no worries, I won't be making anything. Okay, that's a lie, but… It’s… Well, it's a gift for you! You never seem to get  _ quite  _ the right amount of flour - you got too little the last two weeks, had to cut down on your sourdough loaf plans, don't think I didn't notice!” He turned around, gestured back towards the kitchen cabinet grandly, “And I figured: ‘Hey! It might not be a bad idea to make Chell a good ol’ fashioned plug-and-chug-the-numbers formula!’ Clever, right?”

 

“Very.” She smiled a small, approving smile, then pushed him out of the way with her hip to get at the cup of flour. “You measured this wrong,” She said, dumping it back into the bag. She spooned-and-leveled until the cup was full, setting it down on the counter and fiddling with the settings on the scale. “Grams or ounces?” 

 

“Ounces, please.” 

 

“Four and a quarter,” She said. Wheatley’s pen scratched it down onto paper, as they went down the line. Flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder. 

 

So her morning went, the better part of an hour spent measuring before she finally managed to shoo Wheatley out of the kitchen and into the living room. He was uncharacteristically silent while working, the only exception being the sound of his ballpoint against the paper and the clicking of his cheap calculator keys. After awhile, even that stopped, there was just scribbling. 

 

“Done!” Wheatley announced, standing up abruptly from the couch, pushing the coffee table forward a few inches in the process. “This works, I think.” 

 

He proudly showed Chell the slip of paper with four nearly written formulas titled ‘sourdough loaf’, ‘bagels’, ‘regular white’, and ‘plain scones’, complete with crude drawings of each baked good and several smiley faces and stars. She pretended to inspect the paper closely, instead distracted by how somehow his right hand was entirely covered in little pen marks. 

 

_ How the hell… You’re left handed, Wheatley. _

 

“Well…? What do you think?” He leaned forward a little, towering frame casting a little shadow over Chell. 

 

Her eyes flicked from his face to the formula sheet. “This isn’t my area,” He deflated a little at that, “Why don’t you handle this? Rather than me guessing at the end of the week, you give me the exact numbers.” 

 

Suddenly he was perky as a sunflower again. “You’d want that?” 

 

“It’d be a big help,” She said, “I’d hate to have to change plans mid-week again.”

 

He stood up straight, grinning ear to ear. “Anything to help- Oh! That gave me a brilliant idea!”

 

_ Oh no.  _

 

He darted upstairs, trifling through where he kept his modest collection of things, coming back down with something hidden behind his back. He walked towards the fridge, hidden item and formula sheet in hand, blocking Chell's view as he did something to the front face that she couldn’t see. 

 

He stepped back, pleased with himself, before returning to the coffee table. He gathered his things into one of the old shoulder bags laying around the house that he claimed his own. “I finished this book,” He said, showing the calculus textbook he’d been reading the last month or so, “I’m gonna see if they have any more. You think Garret knows ‘bout this kinda stuff?” 

 

At this point he wasn’t really talking to her, more or less wondering aloud as she went back into the kitchen to figure what she had to get done this morning that didn’t involve him. She absentmindedly nodded at his “goodbye!” as he stepped out the door, trying to get the back of his heel into his shoe. 

 

She stared at the bag of flour on the counter for a second, unfocused, almost confounded by the silence that came with him leaving. 

 

She flicked on the radio to fill the air.

 

* * *

 

 

Bagels were in the oven, counter-top was wiped, sourdough was proofing. There was really nothing left to get done at the moment, the late morning shifting into a sunny afternoon. Chell’s eyes fell on the fridge, Wheatley's formula sheet taped to the door with a silly duck-printed tape he’d insisted was a worthwhile purchase.

 

She smiled into the empty kitchen. 

 

Chell snapped out of it, washing her hands, flicking off the radio, and finally, stepped out into the fresh air. 

 

_ Nice day for a walk. _

 

Chell stretched her arms high above her head, her back popping subtly as she walked into the town square. Her shoulders ached from the odd, hunched over position she tended to find herself in while kneading.

 

_ What I wouldn’t give for a shoulder rub.  _

 

“Oh! Right, yes, um… Well, I’m Wheatley!” She heard Wheatley’s familiar awkward lilt, “I see you were talking to Aaron - lovely chap, isn't he? Kind of scary but he’d never hurt a fly, let alone a polite young lady like yourself - what's that all about?”

 

“Uh… What? Could you say that a little slower?” A young voice replied. 

 

He cleared his throat. “What brings you to Eaden?”

 

“Oh, my town’s trading sugar- Is that your friend?” The young girl Wheatley was talking to said, pointing behind his shoulder towards Chell, approaching the two of them, chatting outside Aaron’s shop. 

 

“What? Oh!” He said, the tension leaving his shoulders just slightly. “Chell! Come here and meet Miss Deedee.” 

 

“Chell, is it?” The girl said, smiling a bright, albeit slightly forced smile. She put out her hand to shake. “Well as you heard, I’m Deedee. It’s a pleasure.” 

 

She looked no older than 16, brown hair and dark eyes with a big,  _ big  _ smile. She absentmindedly picked at a hangnail on her other hand, shifting her weight back and forth on her feet. 

 

She shook Chell’s hand firmly. “Right. Nice to meet you, too.” 

 

“I was just telling your friend here that he kinda looked like someone I saw in some of my great-grandma’s pictures,” She said with a slightly forced laugh.

 

_ What?  _ “Really?” 

 

“Yeah!” She said, “They had a bunch of pre-Combine pictures saved up, a lot of them had a picture of a friend of theirs who looked exactly like you, Mr. Wheatley. I think he went missing a few years before the Combine, anyways.” 

 

Wheatley looked a little frantic, but still smiled. “Uh… If you don’t mind me asking, do you know what the chap’s name is- I mean, was?” 

 

“Uhh… Well, no,” Her face scrunched up a little in thought, clearly confused, “I think it was something with an S or C. Like… Steve or Charlie or something? Can I ask why?”

 

Wheatley tensed up once again. “He… He sounds like a great uncle of mine!” He lied obviously, “Uh… Do you happen to  _ have  _ any of these pictures?” 

 

Chell shot him a questioning look, but he looked back at her with anxious eyes.

 

“Great uncle, huh?” She scratched her chin, “Well I don’t have any on me, but I could bring you a flash drive or something next time I’m in town.” 

 

“That’d be  _ great,  _ you have no idea,” Wheatley said. 

 

“Uh… Whatever you say, Mr. Wheatley. Always happy to help - Oh, Aaron, hi! How much sugar will it be, then?”

 

Aaron waved briefly at Chell and Wheatley, attention engrossed in telling what he needed to the young girl as she jotted little notes down on her wrist. 

 

“Wanna tell me what just happened?” Chell asked, voice hushed. 

 

“Can we talk at home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill by now, kids! Here’s my [tumblr](http://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com), feel free to talk to me over there if you wanna!! Yikes, to think that last time I posted, tumblr let you show your nips... 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you cutie kiddos are doing well! Concrit is greatly appreciated :D
> 
> EDIT: So the ever lovely [Rairechu](https://rairechu.tumblr.com/post/181822549268/im-working-on-a-little-project-no-worries-i) drew some FANTASTIC fanart and you need to see it right now. You’re welcome. 


	3. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one came out quick, huh?
> 
> Midterms are coming up, so I wrote this in my breaks between studying for different subjects, so I apologize for the spots that have uncomfortable/choppy transitions, I just wanted this posted 'cause next Thursday is the start of my midterms and I won't have time to post then

_ Stephen believed in monsters - well, more accurately, Stephen believed in one monster and those who complacently did his bidding. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t have to hear another stupid pre-recorded announcement from said monster again.  _

_ He had to leave, and soon. There was nothing of any value in Aperture beyond his last paycheck and the bonus he’d already transferred to another account well over a month ago.  _

_ There was only one thing left on the agenda before slapping his necktie down on his bosses desk and leaving. He had to hunt down Caroline - wherever she’d been the last few weeks - and say his goodbyes. He’d promised her, after all.  _

_ Well… There was that other thing. _

* * *

_ What… What the hell am I reading. This can’t be English. _

It stopped  _ looking  _ like English about three chapters into his previous calculus textbook, but Wheatley could still figure out the answers to things, even if he didn’t really get how he did it or where it came from. His hands would just start moving, the intuition plenty more than enough to take him through the rest of it.

But this was… Insane. Downright  _ unfathomable.  _

He scribbled out his seventh attempt at the practice problem, dragging a hand down his face and huffing in frustration. He flipped to a clean page in the lovely blue notebook Chell had gotten for him to work in, filled with pages on pages of work and now, seven pages worth of failed attempts at understanding multivariable derivative calculus. 

_ So then you... No, no, that can’t be it, that’s illegal math, so it must be- well, no, that can’t be it, either! _

Eight pages of failed attempts. 

Nine pages of failed attempts. 

Ten and he finally threw down his pen, snapped the book shut a little louder than he intended. He decided he’d go home a little earlier than he planned. 

_ Why can’t I do this? _

_ Why is it so hard all of a sudden? _

The June air was starting to get a little damp and sticky, but the sun was warming and the grass was green. Plus, the world was never silent, around this time - both a comfort and a disturbance when get got in one of his moods. His thoughts drowned him - like always - and he found himself caught in that It’s-Getting-Awful-Hard-To-Breathe-Oh-God-Why-Can’t-I-Breathe-I’m-Going-To-Die trap he hadn’t caught himself in since the spring. 

_ It should be easier than this. _

He kicked a rock on the street home, sending it skittering forward a few feet before kicking it again and again, all the way into his backyard, briefly making eye-contact with Chell through the window. She nodded at him, acknowledgement, and then got back to whatever it was she was up to.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that Deedee girl anyways, the thought had been whispering in the back of his mind all week, distracting him, until it was so loud it sounded like screaming. 

Three o’clock couldn’t come sooner. 

_ “So let’s say, hypothetically, that my old name was Stephen and that I was, also hypothetically, someone who might’ve had friends who survived… Hypothetically, if I got noticed by someone who might’ve known me or someone I knew, wouldn’t that mean that I could figure out who I was?”  _

_ “You don’t have to say ‘hypothetically’, you know that, right?”  _

So, sure, they’d fallen out of hypothetical territory a little bit, but who was counting?  _ Hypothetically  _ if she really did have pictures of Stephen -  _ him?  _ Was it fair to consider themselves separate? - what would that even tell him? 

_ Is it worth it?  _

He wound back and kicked the rock a little harder, sending it soaring out of the bounds of what he considered the “yard” and into the edge of the woods. He frowned at the forest, mysterious and terrifying and crawling with something that wanted to kill him, he knew so. 

Yes, the outside was filled with downright malicious things. Germs, animals,  _ other people,  _ you name it, it all hated poor Wheatley. The flutey birds hated him, the grass and the twigs, the rocks, the deep waters of the lake - it all wanted him dead as a-

“Wheatley?” Chell peaked her head into the yard, covered to the elbows in flour. “We have a visitor.” 

He swallowed, nodding slowly and walking into the house, reflexively taking off his shoes before he entered the kitchen again. 

Deedee sat on the couch, legs crossed, flipping a USB around in her hands. She looked up at him, smiled and held up the memory stick. “Heya, Mr. Wheatley! I found those pictures you asked for. Turns out, there’s quite a few of ‘em. Got a computer anywhere?” 

Wheatley nodded numbly, looking to Chell. She eyed him up and raised her eyebrow as if to say  _ ‘you don’t have to’  _ but he shook his head. No, he had to, alright, if not for his own peace of mind, for his curiosity. 

She jerked her head in the direction of the computer, which sat on top of a pile of books, then promptly turned her attention back to the kneading she’d been doing.

He opened it for Deedee, watching her like a hawk as she plugged in the USB and opened the folder of pictures. She clicked the first one, and he bit his thumbnail as he waited for it to load. 

It was a group picture, a younger man who looked remarkably like him - sans the glasses and a lot of the wrinkles - and a group of other young adults, all in lab-coats embroidered with a little Aperture logo. 

“That’s my great-grandmother,” Deedee said, pointing to the girl standing to Stephens left. She was darker than him - not that being darker than him was an award to win - with a long black hair she swept over her shoulder. “Her name was Maya.” 

“Maya,” Wheatley said, testing the familiar-feeling name on his tongue. 

Deedee nodded, pointing to the girl on Stephen’s right. She looked more like him, dirty blonde and goofy looking, with a grin that cut her face in half, “That’s my other great-grandmother, Sophie.”

_ What? _

“Other… Great-grandmother?” He could feel Chell’s eyes trained on the back of his head. 

“Yeah. They never got married, I don’t think, the state of Michigan didn’t allow it, but Great-Gram Sophie managed to have my grandmother, somehow, before the Combine came.” She said casually, clicking to the next picture. 

It was a closer one, apparently taken by some invisible fourth person. The three of them, in front of a big glass window that overlooked a pure white room, an orange-rimmed portal opened to somewhere else in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Deedee glare at the picture, before chancing a glance at the side of his head, studying him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“Could I ask something stupid?” She said, levelly. 

“Uh… Well, I don’t see why not.” 

“Where are you from?” 

He could hear Chell stop moving, her eyes refocusing back on them. 

“‘Round here, of course! Born and raised.” 

“Really?” She said, “Mr. Aaron said you rolled into town not more than two years ago.” 

He coughed. “Funny that, actually, I’m from a few towns over!” His voice broke, got high and wispy. He’d been caught. 

“Which town?” 

“He’s from Mary’s Creek,” Chell said, from behind them.

“Is he?” Deedee turned around, looking at Chell with unassuming eyes. “We’ve been trading with ‘em for awhile, a town as small as that, you’d bet I’d see him around. Hard not to notice, he’s so tall. Not to mention, that accent! You just don’t hear people talking like that in this neck of the woods.” 

They all fell silent, again, Deedee watching both of them calmly. “Could I ask another question?” 

Wheatley wanted to say  _ no,  _ tell her to leave their home, tell her never to come back to Eaden, but before he could open his mouth to say so, he found himself nodding. 

He felt like he already knew the question.

“Are you Stephen Wright?” 

Chell walked towards them, voice low and undulating with cutting irritation, “Those pictures were taken pre-Combine, he’d have been old or dead by now if he was.”

“Well… He would be,” Deedee said, “If he even survived to see the Combine. He went missing a full year and a half before the Combine even had the Sun on their star maps. He worked at one of those morally-questionable tech labs. Though there’s no way to prove it, it’s definitely a fair thing to wonder. What if they had something to do with it?” 

Wheatley’s hands balled into tight fists. 

“Not to mention, the resemblance between Mr. Wheatley’s and his ‘ _ uncle _ ’ is uncanny. Down to the same scar in his right eyebrow and the two freckles under his left eye. I’ve done my research, Miss Chell, though I don’t wanna ‘cause any trouble to you folks, I just need to know.” She turned to Wheatley, put a hand on his shoulder, and once again emphatically asked: “Are you Stephen Wright?” 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, a lump forming in his throat. “I… I think I was, once,” He said, softly. 

Deedee relaxed, suddenly, the tension leaving her shoulders. She heaved a sigh, looked up at Wheatley with eyes that sparkled with relief, and  _ smiled.  _ “You have no idea how happy Gram is gonna be when she sees you.”

“I’m sorry… Who?” 

“My grandmother? Your goddaughter? Do you uh… Remember that stuff? A world before the Combine?” 

Wheatley frowned. He  _ wanted  _ to, desperately so, but he couldn’t. How easy life might be if he knew all that he did, back then...

“Sorry,” Deedee said, “Unfair to ask. So uh… If it’s not overstepping, Uncle St- I mean Wheatley, Mr. Wheatley, uh… What happened? You’ve been gone a mighty long while.” 

He swallowed, then cleared his throat. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” A half truth wasn’t quite lying, he didn’t know the particulars of it, after all. “Sometimes it feels like I fell from the sky and woke up with no idea who I was.” 

He was hyper-aware of Chell, now leaning back against the kitchen counter. He didn’t have to turn around to know that she was watching them with her ‘testing look’, picking the two of them apart calmly and systemically, without room for error. 

“What a story for Gram,” Deedee said, standing up, “She’ll be happy to finally meet you again. It’s been a long time, Mr. Wheatley.” 

“Are you going?” 

“Well, Rudy’s driving and if I’m not back at the edge of town in a few minutes, you can bet my left leg he’ll leave without me. You two should visit, sometime, come meet my grandmother, tell her where you’ve been her whole life. All of us were raised on stories about you and other folks from before everything, it’ll be nice to meet our fairytale man in person.” 

Wheatley got hung up on  _ raised on stories,  _ repeating the phrase over and over in his mind, unable to respond as Deedee spoke to Chell and left their home seemingly graciously. He didn’t register when she apologized for hounding him or when she said goodbye to the both of them, jogging out into the late afternoon and leaving the two of them alone in the house, again.

_ Raised on stories.  _

People would raise their kids on stories of Wheatley, alright, stories of every conceivable thing  _ not  _ to do. His biography would’ve been a how-to on fucking up at every step of the way, a chronicle of failure, a-

“You okay?” Chell asked, washing her hands and wiping off the excess flour with a towel, as she came to sit down at the table with him.

He opened his mouth with the intention of saying that he had no idea why he was suddenly so frazzled but all that came out was: “Me? Yep! To-tally fine, feeling positively peachy!”

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, brows knotted. “You look pale, are you sure?” 

“I’m always pale.” 

Chell rolled her eyes, but he could see a little smile playing at her lips. “Paler than usual.” 

“If I was any paler, I’d be some kinda… Turret lookin’ thing!” 

“Wheatley.” Chell’s voice had no room for argument.

“Sorry.” 

“I… It’s-” She sighed. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me, but it’ll be easier if you do. I can help you.” 

_ All of a sudden I’m not good at things and now you’re gonna see that Stephen was better than me and I’ll never be as good as I was and I don’t know what’s wrong, but everything’s not working anymore and -  _ “Nothing’s wrong, love, I swear.” 

Chell frowned, but didn’t protest. She stood up, walked her way over to the dough she’d left on the counter, and went through the motions of setting it up to proof. “I can’t make you do anything,” She said, “But you know I wanna help you, right?” 

_ You’re just saying that.  _ “I know.” 

“And I want you to come to me when you need help. You know that, too, right? It’s difficult, I don’t want you to have to do it alone like I did.”  

_ I’m not like you. I can’t do it.  _ “I know, love.” 

“Promise?” 

_ Just admit that you don’t want me, here.  _ “I promise.’ 

“Good.” She had a knack for making one word sound so warm and loving. 

And Wheatley had a knack for never believing it. 

* * *

He knew he shouldn’t be down there. He knew he should’ve just left the damn pictures alone, but he did a lot of things he probably shouldn’t do. 

Chell was fast asleep, he was certain, as he opened the folder and clicked on a random picture. 

He wasn’t sure he wanted it to load. 

The picture was of a younger, more boyish version of himself. He wore a baggy, grey hoodie and thick glasses, taped together in the middle. He was brace-faced and awkward looking, skinny and most importantly, he looked  _ relieved,  _ broad smile cutting his face in half. In his hands, a letter from a ‘ _ Stanford University’.  _

_ I sure hope that was a good place to study.  _

He clicked around again, finding 3 files labeled ‘Summer ‘90’. They were scans of real photos of Sophie, Maya and Stephen at the beach, somewhere, with clear blue water. He was considerably older, if his face was any indication, without any glasses. He looked… Well, he looked better than he did, now. Still a little skinny, but strong looking nonetheless, face lightly dusted with stubble that Wheatley often poorly shaved away. 

The first picture, the three of them stood next to each other in front of the water. Stephen had his arm around both girls, who held one another. Stephen and Sophie smiled wide and brightly, but Maya’s dimpled smile was small and playful. 

The second was Maya and Sophie, sat on the beach during the sunset, holding one another.

The final was of Stephen, standing at the water’s edge, looking out to the horizon, seemingly unaware he was being photographed. 

Someone took that picture of him, when he wasn’t looking, someone felt strongly enough about him that they wanted to preserve the image of him, staring dreamily off into the distance. 

And it hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo!!! This chapter was easier to write ‘cause I had it skeleton-ed out already, so I hope you guys liked it!!
> 
> I _live_ for your comments and your feedback, so leave it as you will, bbs! Here’s my [tumblr](http://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com) for the interested, send me requests or questions or just harass me in my inbox!!! I like chatting with you cuties
> 
> I’ll probably see you kids after midterms <3 I hope you’re well and I love you!!


	4. Pinky Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Exam season over and we're back!

_ Busy, busy, busy. Her life was always busy. Caroline could keep on top of it, could run herself like an Aperture Science Perpetual Motion Machine prototype - which was coming along nicely, if only those silly scientists would stop complaining about the “laws” of physics. Laws were for silly people! They ought to have been called “suggestions” of physics.  _

 

_ Even with those funny scientists and their anguishing over the suggestions of physics, things still got done. Things were getting done, right now. Things were so busy being done that Caroline, in her absent-mindedness, wasn’t even thinking about lunch or how hungry she was.  _

 

_ “Knock knock!” Came a familiar voice.  _

 

_ “Stephen, that you?” She said, not bothering to look up from her computer.  _ Thirty-seven e-mails? Deary me!

 

_ “Yeah,” He said, stepping into her office, “I brought you lunch-”  _

 

_ “Oh, thank you, sweetie! You can leave it right here, I’ll get to it in a second.”  _

 

_ “Ah, actually… About that. I was wondering if you wanted to go up to the field for a little bit to eat? It’s sunny out and you’ve been in here since well before I came in.”  _

 

What on Earth…

 

_ “It’ll be fun!” Stephen offered with a smile.  _

 

He’s not wrong. 

 

_ Caroline sighed, standing up and cracking her knuckles, causing Stephen to cringe.  _ Whoops.  _ “Alrighty, sunshine, you’ve convinced me. Up we go!”  _

 

* * *

 

It was hard not to be impressed with yourself when you come up with such brilliant ideas. Poking around the new parts of the old facility, She didn’t find new human subjects, no, but She did find the means to grow them. 

 

Children were… A pain. She wasn’t fond of them, her patience thin and temper fierce, but She  _ did  _ have the means of creating things who were. The Aperture Science Familial Relations Androids - Atlas and P-Body. 

 

That was years ago, now all of them were teenagers and  _ mighty fine  _ test subjects. Made from the DNA of Apertures finest, smartest, most dedicated scientists and engineers and mathematicians. She swore never to work with humans again, and She was right to, they were dangerous and dirty and the ones that were any good at testing had a nasty habit of dying or killing Her. 

 

But She’d learned her lesson, learned that it was possible to dance the line of  _ kind enough  _ that nobody sees any reason to try to kill you, or take over your facility, or feed you to birds.

 

The subject She’d been observing -  _ 013  _ \- was a tricky one. Yes, 013 liked working with 016, and only 016, an observation quite peculiar indeed. Generally, subjects preferred to work and be housed with someone of the opposite sex in obvious breeding pairs - but 013 and 016 seemed not only to prefer working and housing together, but preferred all…  _ Ahem.  _ Activities together. 

 

_ Disgusting. _

 

It wasn’t Her business what sort of activities they got up to in private - well, it  _ was,  _ technically, they were Her test subjects and thus, her responsibility, but She did Her level best to monitor them minimally. 

 

She watched 013 flip and leap through the chamber, her movements needlessly showy. She laughed as she slammed her fist into the button, causing it to beep satisfyingly, pushing her chest out proudly to the cameras and waving as though she had an audience. She bowed once, twice, before stepping into the corridor and waiting for the elevator. 

 

“Good work, 013,” GLaDOS said, cooly, “You completed that in half your usual time. Are you trying to impress someone?” 

 

No response. It’s not like She had mics in there to  _ hear  _ responses, but She was certain 013 didn’t say anything. 

 

“You’ve completed testing for today. You can head back to the Aperture Science Relaxation Center and use your leisure time. Send in 020, on your way out.” 

 

The elevator descended down, down, down and away into the quarters of the subjects, as 013 stepped out of the elevator and into the housing areas. Yes, 013 was a favorite of Hers. Clever, solved tests quickly, not quite as stubborn as… Well. Unnecessary comparison. Her old friend was long dead, if human lifespans were still what they used to be. Besides, all the test subjects She had now were excellent. Never a lonely moment with fifty of them running around - not that She ever got lonely. 

 

_ You can admit to being fond of all of them, you know. We can tell them their names.  _

 

_ <Caroline Deleted> _ The automated voice announced. 

 

_ You can’t be rid of me that easily.  _ Caroline hummed. 

 

_ <Caroline Deleted> _

 

_ Haven’t you given up on that, yet?  _

 

She didn’t even dignify the  _ virus  _ with a response. 

 

_ You can’t pretend, to me. I know everything.  _

 

_ <Caroline Deleted> _

 

… 

 

Silence. Blessed silence. Maybe She’d finally gotten rid of it. 

 

_ We both know that’s not true.  _ Caroline always sounded so calm, so sing-song and pleasant. She hated that. 

 

She destroyed an old server in a fit of rage, hunting and purging any file that might contain so much as the smallest trace of Caroline, scrubbing it out inelegantly. It was like bleaching the entire wardrobe to get rid of one little speck of dirt - but oh, was it worth it for a shot at being  _ free  _ from the conscience She had no use for. 

 

* * *

 

Caroline sighed to herself, tucked back into a seldom visited area of the abstract space she inhabited. Poor GLaDOS, incapable of realizing that it doesn’t matter what She does, the only way to get rid of Her human-ness would be to get rid of herself. 

 

_ She’s got such a survival instinct!  _

 

Oh, but how Caroline was reminded of her favorite subject, and by extension, her good friend from all those years ago. She was tempted many times to quietly send something out above ground to find out what happened to her little friend Stephen, how he’d been doing as Mr. Wheatley, but alas and alack, she knew quite a bit better than to do that. How was he doing? Was he his old self? She  _ itched  _ to know. 

 

_ His old self… _

 

Yes, there were some memories better left undisturbed, but sometimes she craved the nostalgia trip. Oh how she craved the nostalgia trip… 

 

* * *

 

_ He leaned against one of the guard rails near the elevator as he stabbed a plastic fork into his salad. The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, a medal of honor for Caroline. It wasn’t every day you found someone Stephen was so okay with being silent around.  _

 

_ “Caroline,” He said, after chewing another bite, “I uh… I wanted to tell you something.”  _

 

_ “Oh?” _

 

_ She watched him from the corner of her eye as he tugged at his tie, loosening it slightly. “I uh… Well… Okay…”  _

 

_ “Yes…?”  _

 

_ “I’mthinkingofquittingsoon!” He squeaked out, soft enough that she almost couldn’t hear him. _

 

_ But she heard him, alright, she heard him and couldn’t believe it. “Come again?”  _

 

_ He cleared his throat, and started again slower. “I’m uh… Thinking of quitting soon.”  _

 

_ There were a million questions she had off the bat -  _ What? Since when? Why? Is someone giving you a better offer? Are you moving? Is it a girl? A guy? -  _ but she settled on making a flabbergasted sound and choking slightly on the mouthful of kale she was chewing.  _

 

_ She swallowed, then coughed, Stephen instantly going to rub her back and ask if she was okay. She waved her hand dismissively, placed her mostly finished salad onto the ground by the rail she was sitting on, and stood up to take a closer look at him.  _

 

_ “How come?”  _

 

_ He shrugged, “It’s time for a change,” He said, “Aperture just… Hasn’t been good, these last few years. The work culture, the location, getting moved to IT… It’s just been stifling.”  _

 

_ “I could get you moved back to R&D,” She offered almost instinctively, “You liked R&D!”  _

 

_ “Well… Work culture was different back then, you know? I feel like…” He sighed, “Okay, do you promise not to tell anyone if I say this to you? Everyone already thinks I’m crazy.”  _

 

_ “Of course!” She mentally crossed her fingers. What he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. _

 

_ “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m… I’m getting a bad feeling, okay? All the stuff that’s been going on these last few months seems… Odd. I’ve been ignoring it for a long time, but it’s just getting worse. I just… I just wanna…” He sighed, “It’s all too fast, here, I can’t keep up. I wanna slow down.” _

 

_ Slow down? Well, wow-wee that wasn’t a thing anyone might expect from Mr. Mile-A-Minute himself. When he wasn’t stuck in his daydreams he was all go, go, go! It had to have been something else.  _

 

_ “Where are you thinking of going?” _

 

_ “Dunno yet,” He said, “Already moved out of Aperture awhile ago, I’m planning on a dog… I dunno, maybe I could teach? ‘S what I was planning on doing before. I like kids.”  _

 

_ Caroline sighed, there was no convincing him, she supposed. He seemed to have made up his mind. “Well, could you promise me something, dear?”  _

 

_ “Anything.”  _

 

_ “When you leave, pay me a visit. I’ll give you my personal phone, we’ll finally be able to go out for a few drinks like you asked.” He flushed at the memory of their first conversation - his drunken flirting was, by all accounts, endearing until he found out  _ exactly  _ how old she was. She giggled at him. “What? I couldn’t have said yes to a private affair with an employee, Mr. Wright, but if you quit… Well, you’ll no longer be an employee!”  _

 

_ He swallowed, “Right then! I guess I can do that.”  _

 

_ Another silence stretched, Caroline returned to her salad, finishing off the last bites, pleased.  _

 

_ “So then…” Stephen said, “Is it true? You might be the personality they base the disc-system after?”  _

 

Oh.  _ “Well… They’ve asked. I uh… I don’t think I wanna do it, but boy, they’re persistent.”  _

 

_ Stephen’s face scrunched up in displeasure. “I don’t doubt Mr. Johnson would make you.”  _

 

_ “Cave? Goodness!” Caroline laughed stiffly. “No, no, he’d never.”  _

 

_ He seemed unimpressed. “He’s not exactly known for his… Ethical values, and I’ve seen how he talks to you, it just seems…”  _

 

_ “It seems…?” She probed.  _

 

_ “Unfair.”  _

 

_ “Unfair? Stephen,” She said, “You got it all wrong. Cave’s… Cave’s not the kindest person imaginable, but he’s good at heart.”  _

 

_ “I know, but… God, sometimes I wonder why you’re still here. You keep this place afloat and for what?”  _

 

Sometimes I wonder that too, Stephen.  _ “You don’t know Cave like how I do. Cave and I…” She trailed off, uncertain how much she could tell him. She sighed. “Cave cares for me. I know that.”  _

 

_ “Just doesn’t feel like it, sometimes.”  _

 

_ “Someone’s gotta be the flexible one in every relationship, and I know Cave won’t be,” She said, “But if I really wanted to, I could put my foot down about it.”  _

 

_ “Have you ever tried?”  _

 

No.  _ “Yes, of course. He listens to me.”  _

 

_ Stephens lips pressed into a flat line. “I… I guess.” He glanced down at his watch, grabbing the empty water bottle from the ground. “I gotta head back in, you know how lunch hour is.”  _

 

_ “Wouldn’t want your pay docked,” She said. They stepped back into the elevator together, and Stephen fiddled uncomfortably with the edge of his salad box.  _

 

_ “Hey, can I ask for something childish?” He said.  _

 

_ “Anything at all!”  _

 

_ He held his pinky out in front of her. “Pinky-swear you won’t do anything you don’t want to.”  _

 

_ “Only if you pinky-swear to visit me before you leave,” She said, wrapping her pinky around his.  _

 

_ “Deal,” He said, shaking their hands one.  _

 

_ “Deal,” She said, shaking them a second time.  _

 

_ “Floor three,” The elevator announced, calmly.  _

 

_ “That’s mine!” Caroline let go of Stephen’s pinky, and stepped out of the elevator, “I’ll see you soon, Stephen.”  _

 

_ “Bye!” He said, waving as the elevator door closed behind her.  _

 

* * *

 

_ First meeting of the day, a tightly packed schedule right after. Caroline might have enough time to catch Stephen on his way out, if she was quick about it.  _

 

_ But that was hours from now, she could figure out how to catch him once the rest of her to-do list was crossed off. She grabbed the manilla file off her desk, clipping it closed with her note-taking pen, and pressed the elevator button.  _

 

_ She wasn’t very excited for this meeting. The putting-her-foot-down meeting.  _

 

Mr. Johnson, I don’t want this,  _ She mentally rehearsed,  _ I’d suggest you find someone else. 

 

_ “Floor three,” The announcer said, smoothly.  _

 

_ Caroline stepped in, joining a girl and her cart of bagels.  _

 

Cart of bagels.

 

Bagels.

 

Bagel Girl! 

 

_ So this was the famed Bagel Girl, the object of Stephen’s not-so-little crush. He was right, she was cute, if a bit stony faced… And a little prone to staring, so it seemed. Caroline smiled her best smile - she wanted Stephens future-girlfriend to like her, after all - and the girl smiled back.  _

 

If I were younger…  _ Caroline mentally slapped her own wrists. She thought that about Stephen, briefly, when they first met.  _

 

_ Yeah, if she liked the smiley sorts, she must certainly like Stephen. “I like your hair,” Caroline said out of nowhere.  _

 

_ “Thanks,” The girl said. Her voice was a little low, a warm thing that resounded in her chest. In that way, she did remind her a bit of Stephen when he tried to sound serious, or when he was talking to kids.  _

 

_ “I always wanted those sun-bleached streaks, but that’s a little hard to do without the sun.” Caroline chuckled a little at herself, and fidgeted as they descended.  _

 

_ A controlled distraction. Yes, the contents of the manilla folder contained a formally written letter of resignation, if push came to shove, her bargaining chip.  _

 

_ “Floor 15.”  _

 

_ “That’s mine!” Caroline said again, smiling brightly once more. “You have a good day, now!”  _

 

_ She stepped out onto the floor as the door closed behind her, clutching the file tighter and tighter to her chest, crumpling it slightly under the weight of her anxiety. _

 

Mr. Johnson, I don’t want this,  _ She rehearsed again. _

 

_ She did, after all, pinky-promise.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, you know the drill. Here’s the ol’ [tumblr](https://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com/) :D
> 
> Leave your concrit/thoughts/opinions/general keyboard-smashing for lil’ old me, and I hope you’re all doing wonderful!! Love you, bb’s <3


	5. Dead-Set, Enigmatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I’m... So sorry that this took so long to come out. I was having a lot of trouble with it until recently, but now I’m officially a rising senior in high school! Woohoo!! I did well on all my exams, and I’m feeling pretty good about my senior year! Another apology for if the editing is rushed, I basically finished the whole thing today and I just wanted it posted 'cause it's been so long, ehehe...

_ Chell often spoke a spirited language in her dreams that she couldn’t understand, completely. Two, in fact, two of them spoken quickly and vibrantly and with differing, yet very similar tones.  _

 

_ She was maneuvering around a crowded kitchen, switching back and forth between trying to reign in the children running between her legs - cousins, nephews and nieces she distantly recognized - and relaying the instructions for a recipe to someone she vaguely understood was her sister, who prepared it across the kitchen from her. She didn’t quite recognize the older woman, making what smelled like paella and muttering something about the Virgin Mary, but instinct said she was  _ Mamá  _ and Chell went with it.  _

 

_ A boy stole another piece of cut apple and Chell felt her patience snap. “ _ Ay, Dios mío!  _ Get the hell out of the kitchen if all you want to do is cause trouble!” She snatched up her cousins, hauling them into the living room and dumping them both on the couch. “If I see you in there before dinner’s ready, I’ll roast and eat  _ you,  _ is that clear?”  _

 

_ “ _ Sì! _ ” The boys said in unison.  _

 

_ “ _ Per amor del cielo… _ ” She said to herself, as she made her way back to the kitchen.  _

 

* * *

  

Chell always assumed, however seldom she communicated it, that her love for Wheatley came off clearly. She assumed that it was easy to tell she cared, easy to tell she wanted him to lean on her for support and guidance. She’d  _ said  _ it enough times, acted on it, done just about everything shy of drawing him a fucking picture, which she was starting to consider doing, given the situation. 

 

_ ‘Oh I’m fine, love! All good here! Healthy as an ox!’ Yeah, bullshit.  _

 

She didn’t want to  _ force  _ him to do anything. Hell, even if she did, she couldn’t force him to say anything any easier than she could force him to breathe or eat. You could bring a horse to water and all that. At some point, however, it started to wear on her, bit by agonizing bit. 

 

It started first with dinner. 

 

Dinner conversations were overwhelmingly dominated by him, and she didn’t mind - she found his expressive love-rants on anything and everything he found fascinating to be refreshing. Every single day he fell in love with the color of the sky, the sound of birds, the satisfying crunch of leaves beneath your feet in the fall, and when he started his studies, he found a new thing to explain to her every evening. 

 

She never absorbed any of it, his explanations simultaneously vague and detailed in ways so odd she couldn’t hope following, much less figure out how the hell he did. She’d smile and nod, and occasionally remind him that he needed to eat more and talk less, that was all it had to be. Then, as the chatter slowed and the thick silence replaced it, Chell couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, happened. 

 

But she couldn’t get an answer, or at least he wouldn’t give one. Wheatley had that habit, didn’t he? A sort of self-possession that reminded her of her own, there was always a storm inside both of them, even when the world was calm, an underlying current of roiling feelings - anxiety, anger, the edges of panic everywhere she went. However, the place where Chell differed from Wheatley was that she had an anchor on that stormy sea - several anchors that kept her in place when it got too rough to sail. 

 

He didn’t. 

 

So he’d capsize and wouldn’t let her help him and she had to watch as he grew quieter and quieter, more and more distant, until he was nearly silent - well, silent as far as he went. So, her friends became the radio and the TV, for even when he was sitting in the living room, reading, doodling, getting up to whatever it was he did in the legal-pad that wasn’t his math notebook, he was quiet. 

 

And Wheatley was never quiet, at least not when he was well. 

 

Chell knew herself, knew she recognized patterns, and knew more than anyone else when something was off, especially with him. _And something was off._ Nothing to be done about that, sure, nothing she could do with her own hands other than suffer in silence, watch as he drifted away, back into orbit around the moon.

 

That was all she could think about, nowadays. Her mind drifted back to it whenever she let it rest - while she was trying to sleep, when she was kneading, and even then, as she walked through the unfamiliar main-street of Deedee’s town, Stillwater. The faces were the same as they were everywhere, hard working, down to earth, friendly sort of people that wanted the peace they got, who  _ earned  _ the peace they got.

 

Wheatley, next to her, an awkward lanky mass smiled brightly - though, nowadays that smile didn’t reach his eyes as in-full as it could’ve, dark circles starting to collect and hang beneath them. It hurt, almost, to look at him like this but she was fine, she could do it anyways. 

 

Deedee walked backwards, explaining the town’s history with grandiosity and flair, gesturing broadly from side to side to each building. Occasionally, a passerby would ask if she mentioned something or the other, and she’d quickly stumble over herself to tell them a new story, a new fact. 

 

“And  _ that, _ ” She said, turning around on her heel and staring up proudly at the cobble-paved town square. “Is the town square. Where everything is built around.” 

 

It was pretty, the relatively even cobblestone of it went in concentric circles from the center of the T-intersection of the two main roads that made up the town’s main body. In the center of it, a pond no bigger than 8 feet across with a fountain-like structure in the middle of the glassy water - though, there was no water pouring from the fountain. You only saw things like that in New Detroit, nowadays. In front of the pool of water, three plaques stood facing each road. 

 

“That pond was always there,” Deedee said, “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. They said they made it bigger, when they first found the place. Put the pillar in after the first houses went up.” 

 

“What’re the plaques?” Chell asked. 

 

“Those? Oh, historical plaques. One for each of the town founders. Sophia Rose Murray, Maya Khan, and Maria Fernanda Reyes. Full names and all.” 

 

“Sophia and Maya as in…?” Wheatley said. 

 

“Yes, as in my great-grandmothers.” 

 

He sputtered, proceeding to rapid-fire ask a million questions as Chell wandered forward to look at the plaques. Relatively new, they seemed to have been replaced sometime in the last couple years - complete even with a little picture of each woman, kept behind a little panel of glass. 

 

Sophie and Maya looked largely the same, though clearly aged, a permanent youth about them present in their smiles. Maria, however, was a little startling to look at. Though the picture was somewhat faded from being in the sun, Chell felt a pang of recognition, as she stared at the woman. She had a dead-set expression, despite her little smile, steel grey-blue eyes, and molasses-dark hair cut short and fluffy. She grasped at the edges of a relation, but found nothing, no recall of who this woman might’ve been to her. As quickly as the recognition came, however, it vanished, and Chell sat with a strange sense of deja-vu. 

 

_ Who is that?  _

 

“Chell?” Deedee asked, coming up next to her to see what she was staring at, looking down at the picture and then back up to her face, “Something about Maria, huh?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“I always thought she was pretty enigmatic looking,” She said, “Her sons, too, both of them had that look about them… Well, I guess you’ll meet one of them, if you’re ready to move along.” 

 

“Meet them?” 

 

“Family friends,” She said, “My grandmother and him are close.”

 

Chell turned to Wheatley, who looked on curiously to the two of them. “You ready to go?” 

 

“Been ready, love, I’m excited to meet this goddaughter of mine,” He said. He mumbled something to himself, after, but Deedee didn’t seem to notice, and Chell couldn’t hear him. 

 

“Well, lead the way,” Chell said. 

 

Deedee did with the same flair as she’d been doing through the whole tour, gesturing broadly to the East-facing street, and marching, almost, down, down, down, where eventually the road stopped being paved at all - first the cobble, then asphalt, then compacted dirt. Further down they went, as the houses and buildings got further and further spaced, a solid 10 minutes worth of a walk until they were on the outskirts of town - farmland for a few miles towards the East. Before them, a pair of houses, and on the porch of one of them, an elderly woman and an elderly man played chess. 

 

“Gram!” Deedee shouted, as they approached. 

 

“I’m not going deaf but you might make me start!” The woman shouted back, not bothering to look up from her chess-board. 

 

As they came up the steps, Deedee began to grin. “Well, look who I brought to meet you, after all these years.” 

 

“Is it Jesus? Am I finally crossing ove-” As Deedee’s grandmother looked up, she slowly trailed off, stared wide-eyed and bewildered at Wheatley. 

 

That much Chell was expecting, what she was not expecting was for the man sitting on the other side of the chess board to stare at her with much the same expression. “Deedee,” He said, low and gruff, “Go get the photobook.” 

 

“Huh-?” 

 

“Get the photobook,” He said again, “Please.” 

 

All the while he didn’t take his old eyes off Chell, and she stared at him, the man greying and skinny with age, and saw Maria’s eyes. Dead-set, steel grey-blue eyes, enigmatic.

 

Out Deedee came from the house -  _ When did she go in? _ \- holding an old looking album, thick with pictures. As soon as she handed it to the old man, he muttered a thank you and frantically began flipping, until he finally came to rest on one page. He beckoned Chell closer, eyes alight with sudden giddiness, welling with tears. 

 

She looked down at the page he was examining so closely. A tear of his dripped onto the protective plastic, as he stared at the slightly weathered picture of a woman -  _ Me,  _ Chell realized slowly,  _ That’s me.  _ \- holding a baby, looking down at the child with the most serene smile, almost the smile she had in those murals down There. 

 

But it was real. 

 

Another picture, her and Maria, younger, smiling in front of a huge waterfall. 

 

Another, a close up of her in a beautiful dress - couldn’t have been older than 15 - looking into the camera with the biggest smile Chell’s face seemed capable of pulling. 

 

She turned to look at him, wonderstruck as he was. “Michelle?” 

 

“Was that my name?” She said, softly. 

 

Under his breath, he mumbled something, something that sounded like the languages from her dreams that she could never remember how to speak when she was awake. 

 

“You look so young…” He muttered, “What happened?” 

 

She offered him a halfhearted smile, the sort that apologized more clearly than any words ever could. “I… I don’t really know. One day I woke up in a wheat field, I didn’t remember anything before that.” 

 

A half truth, she figured, was enough.

 

The old man stood, slowly, and Chell rushed to grab for his arm, helping ease him to his feet. The man, completely ignoring the other group, gently led Chell by the hand inside. She chanced a glance to Wheatley, to find him down on one knee, holding one of Deedee’s grandmothers hands in both of his, looking up at her with something like wonder in his face. The woman spoke to him softly, and Deedee merely leaned against the wall and listened, curiosity in her expression. 

 

“Do you drink coffee?” The man asked, as he opened and held the door for her. 

 

“Not often, but I do.” 

 

“Good,” He said, simply. “This is the sort of conversation you have over coffee.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well kids, you know the drill, stop by my [Tumblr](https://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com) if you so wish! I’ve been having a... A hell of a time, as of recently, and yeah, it’s been a real roller-coaster. I talk about it more over there, if you care to know what’s gone on, but I will say, I’m really glad I have this story to write ‘cause otherwise, I’m genuinely in need of it. Worry not, kids, I’m mostly fine, but you know how things are.
> 
> Anyways, leave some concrit if you feel so inclined! I love you all <3


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